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DEMOLITION DAYS, PART 86

That reminds me of a story.
After that last one, I thought you might all enjoy a short follow up.
After Al, Chuck, Leo, returned to their other lives back in the world, they kept getting requests from various Agencies and Bureaus for more mine closure data, mostly focusing upon lines of documentation. The various Bureaus desired monographs, road guides, technical reports, and most importantly, detailed step-by-step “How To” manuals.
My guys, now my fully credentialed doctored colleagues, were predictably reticent to write up “How To” manuals for something that was obviously not of their authorship nor inception.
“Fuckin’-A, Rock,” Leo tells me in a phone call, “They want me to fuckin’ basically claim-jump you writing up mine closing procedures. What’s with these goatfuckers? They figured they paid you enough and are now trying to run a goddamned end around? Collective shitheels. No fucking way I’d even think of crossing, even accidently, the Motherfuckin’ Pro from Dover.”
I replied that I had no idea, as after the initial contacts after the field season, I had heard precisely dick from any of the bureaus. Which is fine, as I’m busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm getting ready to shift the family some 12,700 kilometers east.
I thanked Leo for the intel and told him not to worry, it’s just bureaucracy misfiring at its finest.
“Fuckin’-A, Bubba,” replies Leo as he hangs up.
It suddenly goes all dusty in my office. “I’ve trained that boy well,” I sniff and chuckle heartily.
A short while later, Al wrote me that he’s been contacted by the Bureau/Agency and they are desirous that he lead a field trip with a gaggle of professors from various universities. They are also not all geologists, but Environmental Scientists, Hydrologists, something called an “Environmental Engineer,” and other forms of societal detritus.
He tells me that they wanted him to lead a group of these characters out into the desert for a couple of weeks and show them the mine closure procedures which he developed.
He was most adamant in assuring me that they contacted him, and that the terminology was also theirs. He was already otherwise engaged, so he naturally had to decline. However, he made it abundantly clear that he would never even entertain such a notion like the one they had posited.
I wrote him back, as he was down in Patagonia doing something more or less interesting and/or exciting, thanking him for the information and wishing him well on his expedition. Since he was in the field, I also included a couple of the recipes we enjoyed back in the Nevada desert.
He later tells me that the Gauchos he was working with down there have never heard of Pineapple Upside Down Cake and they absolutely were delighted by it. Come to find out, they also like potato juice and citrus drinks as well.
“Good ol’ Dr. Good-deed. Aide to all men.” I pondered.
I talked with Esme about all this and she was of the opinion that either they knew I was headed east or they wanted me to have some time off. I had been doing a lot of ad hoc work for both Agencies and Bureaus over the last few years.
“Of course,” I replied, “Never ascribe to malice what can best be defined by governmental bureaucracy and officiousness.”
So, time puttered on.
We were holding weekly ‘GROJ (Get Rid Of Junk) sales’ on our weekends. Since everything electrical we possessed was 120 VAC, and the rest of the world, it seems, is 220 VAC, I had to part with all my antiquated electronics. My Fisher Studio-Standard stereo system, Akai reel-to-reel 16-track tape machines, EMI TG12345 MK IV recording console, and Harmon-Kardon turntables and amplifiers.
It was painful. However, I rationalized, if I were to stick them in storage for a decade or two, I’d have re-paid for them via rental fees a couple or three times over. Plus, and all that sitting unused in a storage locker certainly wouldn’t be good for these vintage electronical gizmos.
Still, it was a painful time to pack them into the back of someone else’s vehicle.
I had to take all my firearms to my Brother-in-Law for safekeeping. Since he’s in Kentucky, he was both happy to accept and vowed to give them regular workouts. Even though he’s some form or another of mechanical engineer, I guess I could trust him.
One day, the home phone rings. It’s Chuck and he’s livid.
“Rock!” he hollers, “You know what those chapped bastards at the Bureau want from me? They want me to step in on your turf, and take a clan of idiot pseudo-geologists out in the field for a couple of weeks and train them in mine closing. Can you fucking believe that?”
“Chuck,,” I say, “Whoa. Cool down. Leo and Al report the same, so it just looks like you were next on the list. So, going to take them up on their offer?”
“Don’t make me laugh, Doc!” Chuck asks, “First: I’m busy. Second: I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to handle logistics, camping, explosives, and all that other bureaucratic horseshit you somehow put up with. Third: I really don’t want a midnight visit from you and your bag of tricks because I’ve pissed you off by taking credit for what’s rightfully yours.”
“What is the fucking deal?” I ask Chuck, “I’m not like that at all. Everyone thinks I’m going go out and frag them because the Bureau asks them to do a job I did previously. Damn, I’m the most laid-back, gregarious, and even-tempered person on the planet; and I’ll mutilate the miserable manky motherfucker that says I’m not.”
Chuck laughs nervously.
“Hyperbole aside,” I continue, “It’s just that they know I’m headed out to the Middle East and don’t want to bother me right now; I suppose.”
“Umm, Rock,” Chuck clears his thought, and gulps, “That’s not the reason they told me.”
“Is that a fact?” I ask, “What did they give as a reason?”
“Now, Rock, don’t take this wrong. This is Bureau-speak, not me,” Chuck wants to make the point vodka-clear, “But they felt you were the wrong person to lead this group of ‘scholars’. They were concerned with your…”
Hesitation.
“Spill it, Chuck,” I say.
“Demeanor,” Chuck says, “Your conduct, your deportment, your behavior…”
“I see someone got a Thesaurus for Christmas,” I said.
“Rock, that’s them, not me,” Chuck continues, “They said you are too ‘wild and wooly’ to conduct this field expedition of ‘noted scholars’.”
“Is that a fact?” I ask, rhetorically.
“Just reporting to you what they told me, Bossman.” Chuck offers.
“I appreciate it, Chuck. Thanks.” I reply, “Don’t sweat it. I’ll take it from here.”
You could hear an audible expression of relief when we broke connection.
After a couple of cocktails, I had simmered down a bit. Esme says that I need to call my Agency buddies and get the lowdown on the situation, as they’ll know what’s going on.
For once, Esme is also very, very pissed off about the whole situation. Mama Bear’s claws were getting sharpened.
“You are gone for months,” Es exclaims, “Train a bunch of greenhorns, exceed project requirements by over 200%, supply crucial scientific data on forensic activities, and take out a disaster they didn’t even know existed in that mine with the locker full of explosives!”
“Yeah,” I reply, “Does seem a wee bit unappreciative.”
“And then they pull this kind of shit!,” Es yells further, “Those ungrateful bastards. Fuck ‘em. Let them stew in their own futility. They call and you tell them to get stuffed. After all you did for them…”
“Now, now, Dearest,” say, “Let me call Rack and Ruin. If anyone has the skinny on all this, they’ll have all the latest dope.”
“Bastards!,” Es cries, “You damn near get killed several times over and this is their thanks?”
“Yeah, I know, Darling,” I say, “Does seems a bit ungrateful and duplicitous.”
Esme hands me the phone.
“Phone. Call. Now.” She orders.
Looks like I just got my marchin’ orders.
“Yes, my love,” I reply. Even I know when I’m out-matched.
RING RING RING
Agent Rack answers and we go through the usual pleasantries…
“What the flying fuck you mean ‘I’m too dangerous’?” I question Agent Rack.
“Well, Doctor,” Rack tries to explain, “Your ‘cavalier’ attitude towards explosives. More of your ‘relationship’ with them. Not showing the proper deference…”
“WHAT?,” I roar, “Ask anyone that has worked with me in the field! ‘Safety first, last, and foremost’. Just that I don’t fret and quail around explosives like a bunch of phonophobic, jumped-up, wet-pantied shuddering schoolgirls, when I have to demolish something, doesn’t mean I’m anything other than a goddamned consummate professional.”
“Plus, Doctor, ” Rack continues, “It’s not the 1880’s any longer. A Stetson? A sidearm? A .454 Casull Magnum at that…”
“You have got to be yanking my crank here, Rack.” I angrily reply, as I really hate it when someone calls me Doctor like that, “The hat keeps the sun off my head so I don’t get addled like those fuckers you’re talking with at the Bureau. The sidearm is for safety. Oh, yes; there’s that word again. It’s a fucking tool, just like my Estwing hammers or my galvanometer.”
“Can’t kill anyone with a galvanometer,” Rack replies.
“But I could with a hammer, myriad ways” I reply, “And give me five minutes, I’d figure out a way to ‘extract’ someone with a galvanometer...”
“Doctor, do let me let you talk with Agent Ruin; I’m needed elsewhere,,” he tells me.
Agent Ruin takes the phone. It’s the old Agency Two-Step.
“Doctor is distraught,” he observes.
“No, ‘Doctor’ is just plain damned mad.” I reply, “They contract me for a job that has never been attempted before and I complete it beyond their wildest expectations! This is my recompense?”
“Well, Doctor,” Ruin continues, “I’m sure it’s strictly a business decision. It’s obviously nothing personal.”
“It sure as fuck sounds personal,” I gripe back, as now I’ve gone from annoyed to genuinely pissed off, “I’m surprised they didn’t say something derogatory about my Hawaiian shirts.”
“Oh, they did,” Agent Ruin lets slip.
“Oh? OK, Fine. That’s is then,” I reply, “The joyfulness of this whole experience has left the building. Tell them to strike me from their fucking list. I’m done with them. I wash my hands of them. I’m off east anyways. Fuck that bunch of paper-pushing, deskbound, pencil-necked dickheads. Fuck them. Fuck them solid. Fuck them ‘till they bleed.”
“Strong message to follow,” I add.
“Doctor,” Agent Ruin reminds me, “Do I need to remind you that all our conversations are recorded?”
“Oh, fuck no. I know that. So fucking what?” I growl, “Like I’m going to get tossed in Guantanamo for expressing a personal opinion? I can still do that in this fine country. Or has the First Amendment been repealed in my absence?”
“Doctor, you’re obviously agitated,’ Ruin adds, “Perhaps we’ll talk again later when you’ve calmed down before you head to the Middle East.”
“Yeah, about that,” I reply, “You shady characters can cross me off your fucking list as well. You’ve done nothing for me on this latest concern. Nothing! You couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a motherfucking heads-up. Guess that tells me all I need to know about the future of our relationship. Goodbye, Agent Ruin. Give Agent Rack my ‘Da Svidonya. I won’t be answering your calls any longer.
“Doctor, I, um, wait…”Agent Ruin sputters.
I continue: “And as long as I’m at it, tell that other Bureau to go hang as well. They want more data or shit from me, tell them to go find it elsewhere. And also tell them good luck with that. The three experts that exist in the world apart from me already told them to get bent. At least they possess loyalty and a dollop of comradeship. I’ll be shipping your phone and other items back via parcel post. Hasta la vista, Herr Ruin. Have a day.”
CLICK-KER -FUCKING-SMASH! I hang up in the rudest way possible.
“Clapped-out assholes,” I muse. “All those years of working together. All those years of building relationships around the world. It’s all kyboshed over a fucking Hawaiian shirt. I guess it was inevitable. Either I became too specialized or evolved myself out of being useful to them. Ah, well, their loss. Can’t be helped…”
I take a healthy swig right from the prime vodka bottle. OK, several.
“FUCKERS!” I scream at the wood-paneled ceiling, shaking my fist in vehement rage at the clouds coolly cruising by outside my window.
Esme doesn’t come running. She doesn’t have to. She knows the score.
I ship the Agency’s toys back to them with a terse note: “Thanks for all the nothing. Here’s your shit back. Dr. Rocknocker. PS: Get stuffed.”
Not my best effort, I’ll agree. However, I was really pissed at that point.
Now I have the time to devote solely to relocating my family and I overseas. Gad, there’s so much crap one must go through. What to sell, what goes in storage, what to trash, what to give away…the lists are endless.
First to go are all my power tools. Fuckbuckets. It took me decades to amass that collection. I got a good price, sure, but now I’m more or less without a hobby. We decide to put all Esme’s lapidary equipment in storage. It’s too specialized to generate much interest, much less a decent price. Besides, they won’t rot in our absence.
I can ship my fishing gear and golf clubs overseas. They’re American, but at least not 120 VAC.
Our house goes on the market and we have to get it spiffed to within an inch of its life. Got to have that ‘curb appeal’. Good, let someone else do it, I’m busy. More unexpected expense.
I give our house contractors out in New Mexico their marching orders. It’s going slow and will be a seasonal thing, but they guarantee me the house will be ready by next summer if they can source the slabs of Baraboo Quartzite I want. Splendid, that’s something I don’t have to follow up on every day.
Then there’s our aquarium. 250 gallons of treated Houston water, loaded with native Texan fish and a couple of cranky Jack Dempseys. All the gear, filters, pumps, water polishers, heaters, treaters, all of it. Has to go.
My ex-Utah Mormon drinking buddy down the road expresses interest. I basically let him have it gratis on the one condition he takes everything, fish included. He has to keep the fish alive and happy their entire lives. I’ve raised some from minnows and have grown attached to a couple of the gaspergou and a certain smallmouth bass with those big brown eyes…
Digger, my stalwart mechanic, is going to purchase my truck. It’s a bittersweet parting, but at least I know it’ll have a great home. Digger is going to use it as both his personal truck and his company’s hot-shot vehicle for pick-up and delivery of everything from batteries to full drivetrains. I know the vehicle will be in good hands.
Our Land Rover is up for grabs. Few are interested, though; buyer’s market. It’s a couple of years old and has lots of miles, due to Houston being so stupid-big. I order an extra-large bottle of AstroGlide as I know I’m going to be taking it up the ass on this one…
Finally, our pets.
Reluctantly, I’ve agreed to take the cat. It’s a stupid little feline that I figure we can just toss in a suitcase and drag it with us overseas. No, I guess we’ll get a cat-carrier and figure it out with the airlines.
Then there’s Lady. 135 kilos of dopey puppy. She’s getting up in years, as well, especially for a giant breed. Luckily, overseas we’ll be living on a Western compound. So if we go through all the rigmarole of quarantine, getting her a ‘pet passport’, and shipping via a specialist service, Lady can bark at the tenets of pre-Islam (dogs really aren’t haram), and actually join us in our new home.
This is going to cost a fortune, but I don’t care. She’s an integral part of the family, she is going to join us.
I find a Pet Relocation Service and begin the masses of insane paperwork. It’s an ‘all-in’ service, basically door-to-door. But do not be deluded, they charge every micrometer of the way.
Vaccinations, chipping (she already was fitted with an RFID chip), booking, boarding, securing vet services, obtaining health certificates, securing import permits, dealing with all issues related to customs clearance, interacting with foreign agents, supplying IATA approved crates, and obtaining Municipality tags registration for new arrivals.
Gonna cost me a couple-three-four kilobucks. Worth every penny.
Esme, the kids and I are working on beginning packing, tossing this, wrapping that, sentimentalizing over the other thing when we get a ring at the door.
It’s a bonded courier. He has a package for me.
It’s of the size that would contain about 6-months’ worth of Playboy magazines, and has no external address. I sign for the thing and walk back to the kitchen.
“What you got there, Rock?” Es asks.
“Not sure,” I reply, “But it came via bonded courier.”
“Well, open it,” Es smiles. She loves surprises.
I do so and it’s a series of articles, re-prints, and other information regarding Nevada, mine closures, and the Mine Closure Act. There’s also a number of newspaper and magazine clippings that had been photo-copied into a dozen-page document. All of them, write-ups and reviews from different newspapers, house organs, and journals citing my work with the guys out in the field.
I open it further and there’s a personal note from Dr. Sam Muleshoe, and a certified check, made out in my name.
Seems I was correct. After exhausting their leads with Al, Leo, and Chuck, they have spent near a month trying to find someone to take over the project. “To fill my shoes,” as Dr. Sam Muleshoe notes.
They came up totally empty.
“Told ya’ so.” I gloated. Esme smiles a wide schadenfreude-fueled smile.
I look at the check. It’s plenty healthy, but not superhero strength.
I show Es and she laughs out loud.
“So,” Es whoops, “They think they can get back in your good graces by buying you off? Hah! Fat chance,” she says and regards the check, “Hell. They’re not even close.”
I agree with Esme passionately.
I write a quick, hand-scribbled note to Dr. Muleshoe, thanking him for the information. I give several options, some admittedly anatomically impossible, regarding what he can do with the check and the Bureau’s offer.
I wrap it back up with duct-tape, call the courier service, and return it to Reno, COD.
A couple of days later, I receive a phone call. Surprise, surprise, it’s from Reno.
“Rock, it’s Reno!,” Es tells me.
I shake my head “no!” slicing my hand through the air in the head-chop mime.
“Tell him I’ve gone bush in darkest Outer Albania and you have no idea when I’ll be back,” I say.
Esme looks a bit sheepish, as we can hear the phone remark: “I can hear you, you know.”
“Fuckbuckets,” I think, “OK, hand me the rap-rod.”
“Yeah?” I growl, very grizzly-like into the infernal communication device.
“Hello, Rock. This is Sam Muleshoe,” the phone reports.
“Damn,” I exclaim, “I guess you characters can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Which word fucking confused you?”
“Rock, what’s the god damned deal?,” Sam asks innocently, “Why all the bloody hostility?”
“Oh, double-fuck me!” I say metaphorically, “Don’t act like you don’t know. Try and snake the latest field mine closing job out from under me and try to snag my guys. Then, when that fails, give some sort of bullshit report to Rack and Ruin. You think I’m ‘too cavalier’, too “wild and wooly’, and think I’m some goddamned 19th-century throwback that loves horrible Hawaiian shirts…”
“Doc?,” Sam asks, “Are you currently fucking drunk? What the actual fuck are you rabbeting on about?”
“Sam, I’m stone-cold fucking sober,” I reply, “Yeah. I know, that’s a first. But listen here Scooter. You must have balls of brass trying to sweet-talk me into running another field course after all you did…”
“Rock,” Sam pleads, “Please, believe me, I have no idea what you’re on about. Can we talk and maybe figure this thing out?”
“No!,” I holler, “I’m done talking with the likes of your Bureau. Nothing you can do or say to rebuild the bridges they’ve burned with me.”
“OK,” he says, “Doct…, err, Rock, buddy. Calm your tits. Give me the Reader’s Digest version. I’ll look into it, because I have absolutely no idea what this is all about. This really sounds serious, with fuck-up overtones. Trust me, I’m serious as the last cold can of beer on a field trip.”
“Marvelous.” I say, “I guess I owe you that much. Professional courtesy. At least one of us has the grit to employ some.”
So, I run through the tale of the travails of Al, Chuck, and Leo. Then my little difference of opinion with Agents Rack, Ruin, and the Agency. Plus my severing of ties with both that Agency out on the east coast and the Bureaus in the great American Southwest.
“Doctor,” Sam says intently, “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I swear on a box of your finest cigars with a vodka chaser that I didn’t know anything about all this nor did it come from this office. Por favor señor, let me do some digging. I’ll be back in touch.”
“Sam,” I say, thinking over the situation, “Yeah…I must apologize for my previous outbursts. I should have known you’re not behind this idiocy. Yeah, go do some fossicking. Let me know what you dig up. Again, sorry. I was a bit…animated.”
“Rock,” Sam chuckles, “Do you think that I’d dare anger someone like you? You must think I’ve got a serious case of cranial lithification to cheese-off the Motherfucking Pro from Dover!”
At this point, I knew that Sam was also only collateral damage; he too was caught in the crossfire. Ground zero for the original attacks lie elsewhere within the Bureau.
Esme and I go back to preparing for our trip coming up in 2 months. But Jesus Q. Christwagons, there’s so much to do. Everything you own; it gets packed, stored, or trashed.
It’s the decisions that get so tiring. Keep. Toss. Sell. Burn. Leave on someone’s doorstep.
I propose to Es that we just do the basic necessities. Then we hire some firm to finish up for us. It’d be worth the cost since just think what we’d be saving on aspirin and Ace Bandages.
Esme readily backs the idea that we should turn the job over to someone else. Plus in the interim, we can take a trip back home to Baja Canada so the kids could visit their grandparents, we visit our family, and all of us could cool out a bit before the big trip east.
I need to drop by Big Ray’s Tap for a few hours/days anyways.
Old commitments.
We’d go the beginning of our last month here in the States, spend a couple of weeks visiting family at home, leave the kids with the grandparents to get spoiled rotten. Es and I would return to Houston to finalize everything.
Then Es and I would fly from Houston to that damn sprawling annoyance of an airport on the big lake in Illinoise. The family would meet us there, handover the kids, and we’d all haul ass eastwards to the Middle East.
I readily agreed. Anything has to be better than dealing with this crapola.
Lady and the stupid cat would go to the pet schleppers a little early. Sure, it’d cost a few more dinars, but that’s one big headache sorted.
So, late one afternoon, I’m sitting in my office, trying to figure out exactly what reference works I couldn’t live without.
Compton’s? Save. Field Guide to Fungus? Toss. No, wait a minute. Could prove useful.
That’s why this is taking forever.
The phone rings.
It’s Sam.
“Hello, Sam,” I say, “What news?”
“Goddamn it all to fucking hell and back,” Sam roars.
“That’s a unique greeting,” I reply.
“I finally drilled down to the bottom of all this horseshit.,” Sam replies, “And it’s a real bowl of fuck all the way south.”
“I’m listening,” I say, “Actually, Sam, hold on. I need a drink. Moment.”
I give Es the high sign, note it’s Sam on the phone, and that I’ll be in my office if she hears any screaming.
I amp up my drink and return to my office, closing the door behind me.
Lady is here, waiting to keep my feet warm.
“OK Sam, your nickel,” I say, “What’s the scoop?”
“Would you believe?,” he begins, “That all batshittery this came from accounting and bookkeeping?”
“Well,” I reply, “I’ll have to admit that I’m not overly surprised.”
“Yeah,” Sam continues, “I was off on holiday. My first two weeks off after 5 years. My very temporary replacement received a memo from the head of the Bureau that there was great interest in you leading a shortened version of your last trip to demonstrate to a bunch of different university PhDs in the care and feeding of abandoned mines. Seems the Bureau Chief was very impressed with what you and your team accomplished.”
“OK,” I reply, “With you so far. So, where did things get wrapped around a tractor’s nuts?”
“Right,” he replies, “Here’s where things first went off the rails. Whoever vetted the list of potential attendees sorted the list alphabetically, not by field of expertise. Of course, the obvious first choice would be for geologists; especially those with mining, field, and blasting experience.”
“Ah,” I replied, “No wonder it was such a miscellaneous bunch of baloney-loaf whole-grain enviro-types that Al had mentioned.”
“Yep,” Sam agreed, “But before anyone with any brains got sight of that list, some fucknuts in the Bureau’s University Liaison department sent out invitations.”
“Invitations?” I asked, “To what?”
“That’s just the thing,” Sam continued, “They sent out invites to a program that didn’t yet exist, run by someone who had yet to be contacted, much less secured.”
“Oh, hey! That’s some good work you guys do down there.” I snort.
“Indeed,” Sam agrees, “So once that hit the mail, we started getting back replies and acceptances.”
“And there was no project, no leader, no logistics…?” I asked.
“No shit,” Sam scoffs. “So, what did these idiots here do? Contact the attendees and explain the problem. Take a little flack, but get it sorted out then try again?”
“Let me guess,” I said, “No?”
“Nope,” Sam sighs, “By that time, it was in the works and in the hands of accountants.”
“Oh, fuck,” I commiserated. “I feel your pain.”
“Yeah,” Sam continues, “They see that you’re the hookin’ bull on the last one and they dig into your contract. They figure, ‘Whoa, he’s way too expensive, just look at these expense accounts’, so they do an end-around and contact your colleagues.”
“Al, Chuck, and Leo. They’re damn good guys,” I said, “Fine field scientists, all. But I don’t think any of them have the moxie or experience yet to run a whole field course.”
“These accounting shitheads never bothered to find out,” Sam groans, “It was all ‘bottom line’, so you got caught in the squeeze.”
“OK,” I reply, “I see how that happened, but what about all the shit about me being a 19th-century throwback, that I’m unsafe, wear horrible Hawaiian shirts, and all that shit?”
“Comedy of bloody errors,” Sam says, “Actually, the Bureau Chief likes your fashion sense; you should see some of his shirts. But your slime campaign was based on unreliable evidence, tall tales, folklore, and outright fabrications. It was easy to pimp someone with a personality like yours, it’s been said. Someone was trying desperately to cover his ass. However, we have identified the perpetrator.”
“Next time I’m in Reno,” I said, “I’ll pay him a friendly little visit and arrange his transport to Neptune. One way. Y’know, it’d be easy for someone with a ‘personality like mine’.”
“Ah, yeah. He won’t be here,” Sam says, “In fact, we don’t know where the hell he went. He was immediately sacked, as were a couple of the more boneheaded accountants.”
“That’s redundant,” I smirk, “They really don’t want to talk with or see me anytime soon.”
“Right, then Rock,” Sam says, “We green again?”
“Yeah, Sam,” I reply, “Sure. Green as a New Saigon. But you’ve got to call Rack and Ruin for me. You have to let them know how this whole clusterfuck came to be. We had some words a while back.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam remembers, “I talked with them the other day. They said they’ll be in Houston in a couple of days.”
“Cor! Just what I fucking need right now,” I lament. “Ah, it is what it is.”
“OK, Rock. Now, back to reality. You interested?” Sam asks.
“Send me a JD (job description) and the project particulars. The price of poker’s really going up this time, Sam. Stratospheric. Sorry, it’s all just business.” I relate.
“Yeah…,” Sam sighs, “I figure we’ll really owe you if you can drag our ass out of the campfire on this one.”
“You have no idea,” I chuckle. We exchange farewells and ring off.
Now I have some talking to do with my significant other.
Since we were all set to go back to Baja Canada, I could use those two weeks to go to Nevada, if necessary. I can be back in Houston with Es for the last two weeks before we’re slated to travel, and we can sort out the house.
“This won’t be an easy sell,” I muse, before chatting with my darling, brilliant, and ever-so-forgiving partner.
“I’ll need a drink first”, I declare.
Esme notes that it would be nice to have a little spare cash with us when we move overseas.
You could have dropped me with a Claymore. Es never fails to flummox me.
So, provisional OK from the powers that be. Now all I have to do is wait on Sam’s prospectus.
The next day, the doorbell rings. It’s Agents Rack and Ruin.
One is holding a box of very expensive cigars, and one is holding a bottle of very expensive bourbon.
I turn to Es and remark, “Look here, darlin’. Geeks bearing gifts.”
“Hello, Doctor,” Rack says, bristling, “We need to talk. “
“Why?” I ask, “I do seem to recall that I’m no longer associated with you people any longer.”
“Doctor,” Agent Ruin cocks his head contritely, bowing ever so slightly, “May we please have a moment of your time?”
I look to Es. She shrugs her shoulders. Luckily I’m partial to Es’ opinion. I am also partial to good bourbon and cigars, especially when someone else is paying for them. So I shrug my shoulders as well and tell them to make entry.
“My office, “ I say, “You know the way. Mind the boxes.”
Once in my office, the Agents stack their offerings and go on in great detail, basically collaborating Sam’s story. I remain steadfast and stony as the Harney Peak Granite of Mr. Rushmore fame. I’m not giving anything away any longer.
“Well, Doctor,” Agent Ruin finalizes, “That’s the story, warts and all.”
“Yep, it is pretty warty,” I agree, “So?”
“We would like to rekindle our relationship,” Agent Rack reports, “These are for starters.”
He hands me the cigars and booze; plus another box.
“Thanks,” I say, “But just because I accept your peace offerings, that doesn’t mean we’re going to turn back the clock.”
“What are you suggesting?” Agent Ruin asks.
“No more consulting,” I reply, “I want in. The ‘Full Monty’, as it were. If I’m going overseas and work for some twitchy Middle Eastern sandpit’s national oil company, I want perks, tabs, and my ass duly covered.”
“Work two full-time jobs simultaneously?” Agent Rack asks.
“However you want to structure it,” I say, “No more consulting. From here on out, you want me, you’re making me a full-fledged full-timer.”
Agents Rack and Ruin look at each other, enquiringly.
“Doctor,” Agent Rack replies, “We are prepared to offer you an ad hoc Agency appointment. You will be fully attached but you will be also doing your full-time job in the other country.”
“I’m listening. Tell me more,” I ask, “What exactly are you offering?”
“Full access to all pertinent information,” Agent Ruin continues, “Full entrée to appropriate facilities and, um, assets. Security for you and your family in case of, well, shall; we say, ‘difficulties’. Monthly minimum payment of [$$$] to any non-US bank of your choice. Extra duties would be duly compensated. Top clearances. An enhanced potential payment package, bonus possibilities, and full benefits for you.”
“Full benefits for me and my family,” I say, “Or there’s the door. Non-negotiable” I point out.
“Very well. That had been anticipated.” Agent Rack replies.
“Gentlemen,” I say, “Let us shake on what I hope turns out to be a beautiful relationship.”
We shake hands and I sign my life away. I’m really in it now, up to my neck. I have to learn to shut up more and just listen.
“Now, gents,” I say, “In order to seal the deal, let us break out the drinking stuff you’ve brought along. We will also smoke together so that we will know there will be no lies or deceit between us.”
“Also anticipated, Doctor,” both agents agree.
My ‘new’ old colleagues prepare to leave a while later, after a cigar, and far too much of what was a full bottle of expensive gift booze. They always get you in the end.
Contained within the other small box were my new Agency credentials, updated version satellite phone, secure codes, and a nifty new Swiss Army Knife, with a built-in cigar cutter.
With renewed dedication and expectations all ‘round, Agents Rack and Ruin take their leave.
They hope to be able to meet me and the family, remember, they are Uncles Rack and Ruin, overseas one day in the not too distant future. My information, further updated cards, registration, and all that official business guff will come to the specific Middle Eastern country’s US Embassy for me once we arrive and get settled.
“Marvelous,” I muse.
I receive an Email from Dr. Muleshoe explaining what we talked about and his hopes for my stickhandling a ‘quick’ 2-week field excursion for the approximately 15 Ph.D. types from around North America. Seems there’s a couple of Canadians and one Mexican professor that expressed desires to join. They had actually forwarded funds to be included in our number.
Sam suggests I drive out in my truck and proceed as per the last trip. Get the trailer, fill it with noisemakers, and the Bureau would sort out transportation and lodging for the attendees. Seems some want to camp, like real geologists, and some want to lodge in hotels, like real non-geologists.
I write Sam back:
First item: this is a 2-week sojourn into the desert. It’s a field meeting, emphasis on the field, not a tour of Nevada’s many fine hotels, resorts, and casinos.
Item two: I no longer possess my truck. The Bureau will provide me with the appropriate vehicular equivalent. No passengers, this will be the Camp Chief truck from the onset. Besides, I am the only one licensed to drive the vehicle when coupled to an explosives-laden trailer.
Item three: I will be flown to and from Reno from Houston. No buses, trains, or automobiles. It’s business class or zilch.
Item the fourth: the Bureau will source the necessary support logisticians to provide food, drink, and toilet paper for the 16 professionals while we are in the field. They will also need to provide cooks, dishwashers, camp tidiers, and the like as I don’t have time to deal with 15 potentially field-fresh, whiny waterhead PhDs.
Item the fifth: The Bureau will provide for all pre- and post-trip handling of participants. They can handle hotel rooms for the early arrivers or late-stayers. They can manage arrivals, registration, signing of necessary documents, and assuring vaccination records are up to snuff, waivers are signed, etc. They will also handle the transportation of participants to/from and during the field project, when and where necessary.
Item the sixth: I include a new version of my contract. Force Majeure, ‘Take or Pay’ clause. Door to door coverage. Plus my, ahem, augmented day rate. Absolutely non-negotiable.
Item seven: I have final say over what is done in the field. I am in command, the boss, the head cheese, the head honcho, and I require absolute discipline, especially where explosives are concerned. “My way or the highway” will be the theme of the trip. Gain, non-negotiable.
To be continued.
submitted by Rocknocker to Rocknocker [link] [comments]

[USA] [H] Pokemon, Mario, & Zelda classics, TurboGrafx-16 Console and games, Over 1K games for other consoles, much more! [W] PayPal

All prices include shipping to the US (with the exception of Hawaii and Alaska).
I always give discounts on purchases of multiple games/consoles. Feel free to make your own offer on multiple items. The only prices that aren't negotiable are individual items.
This post is organized as follows. There's a TON here, so please check out everything, as items can be easy to miss!
Feel free to ask for detailed pictures on anything! Pictures for a lot of items are hyperlinked throughout the post. If you want more photos on any items, just ask! I'm honestly cool with taking as many photos as you'd like.
https://imgur.com/a/XrMUcyK
1) Consoles/Console Bundles
Consoles are all tested thoroughly and working. ALL consoles listed have all cords needed to play right away
Nintendo
Handhelds
Regular Consoles
Sega
Sony
TurboGrafx 16
2) Controllers/Accessories
Controllers are all OEM and tested thoroughly. Any defects are noted.
N64
NES
Playstation
Playstation 2
Sega Dreamcast
Sega Genesis
Super Nintendo
Wii/Wii U
XBOX
3) Games
Games are CIB, unless otherwise noted. Games are all working great, and condition of games ranges from good to like new. As a precaution, assume discs and cases will show normal wear. Feel free to ask for pictures of any game(s)!
Gameboy Advance (Game Only)
Gameboy Carts
Gamecube
N64
CIB
Game and Box
Game Only
NES
CIB
Carts Only
Nintendo DS
Loose Games
Nintendo 3DS
Carts Only
Playstation
Playstation 2
Playstation 3
Sega CD
Sega Dreamcast
Sega Genesis
Carts Only
SNES Carts
TurboGrafx 16
Wii
Wii U
XBOX 360
5) Factory Sealed Games
Playstation
Playstation 2
Wii
XBOX
XBOX 360
5) Build Your Own Commons Bundles (designed for completionist collectors)
*I have a lot of respect for people who go for complete and near-complete sets of games, and I want to help other collectors check off common games in bulk. Of all the games above priced at $5.25 or $6, you can build any custom bundle from these options: *
6) Manuals
(I know $5 is steep on some of these, but it's the lowest I can go without losing money from shipping and fees; feel free to make aggressive bundle offers with these!)
Manuals
Gameboy
*Pictures here
N64
NES
PS2
Sega 32x
Sega Game Gear
Sega Genesis
submitted by arandomuzzerame to GameSale [link] [comments]

[USA] [H] Consoles, Controllers, Over 1K Games for Various Consoles (Nintendo, Sega, Sony, Microsoft) [W] PayPal

All prices include shipping to the US (with the exception of Hawaii and Alaska).
I always give discounts on purchases of multiple games/consoles. Feel free to make your own offer on multiple items. The only prices that aren't negotiable are individual items.
This post is organized as follows. There's a TON here, so please check out everything, as items can be easy to miss!
Feel free to ask for detailed pictures on anything! Pictures for a lot of items are hyperlinked throughout the post. If you want more photos on any items, just ask! I'm honestly cool with taking as many photos as you'd like.
https://imgur.com/a/XrMUcyK
1) Consoles/Console Bundles
Consoles are all tested thoroughly and working. ALL consoles listed have all cords needed to play right away
Nintendo
Handhelds
Regular Consoles
Sega
Sony
TurboGrafx 16
2) Controllers/Accessories
Controllers are all OEM and tested thoroughly. Any defects are noted.
N64
NES
Playstation
Playstation 2
Sega Dreamcast
Sega Genesis
Sega Saturn
Super Nintendo
Wii/Wii U
XBOX
3) Games
Games are CIB, unless otherwise noted. Games are all working great, and condition of games ranges from good to like new. As a precaution, assume discs and cases will show normal wear. Feel free to ask for pictures of any game(s)!
Gameboy Advance (Game Only)
Gameboy Carts
Gameboy Color Carts
Gamecube
N64
CIB
Game and Box
Game Only
NES
CIB
Carts Only
Nintendo DS
Loose Games
Nintendo 3DS
Carts Only
Playstation
Playstation 2
Playstation 3
Sega CD
Sega Dreamcast
Sega Genesis
Carts Only
SNES Carts
Wii
Wii U
XBOX 360
5) Factory Sealed Games
Playstation
Playstation 2
Wii
XBOX
XBOX 360
5) Build Your Own Commons Bundles (designed for completionist collectors)
*I have a lot of respect for people who go for complete and near-complete sets of games, and I want to help other collectors check off common games in bulk. Of all the games above priced at $5.25 or $6, you can build any custom bundle from these options: *
6) Manuals
(I know $5 is steep on some of these, but it's the lowest I can go without losing money from shipping and fees; feel free to make aggressive bundle offers with these!)
Manuals
Gameboy
*Pictures here
Gamecube
N64
NES
PS2
Sega 32x
Sega Game Gear
Sega Genesis
submitted by arandomuzzerame to GameSale [link] [comments]

The Smartest Guys in the Room eerily describes Tesla

I just finished reading the smartest guys in the room and couldn't believe how many parallels Enron's story has with Elon's. Obviously some of these are immaterial and just coincidences, but I think some of them get to the heart of how the companies got away with so much.
For the record I'm not saying that Tesla is a fraud like Enron was. The accounting rules that were put in place after Enron's bankruptcy make accounting fraud a lot less likely these days. I'm just calling attention to the company culture and some of the bad behaviors it causes.
I tried to cut the content as much as possible but there's so much here that it's difficult.
Everything below other than the headings is a direct quote from the book, written in 2003 with a few quotes from the 2013 update. Again, the parallels are impressive.

Outside Investors

Blaming the shorts and the media

In Internet chat rooms, individual investors flamed analysts who downgraded their favorite stocks. Even sophisticated institutional investors—the analysts’ primary clients—often became angry at research analysts who turned bearish on stocks they held. It didn’t matter if the analyst’s insight was correct or perceptive; all that mattered was that he or she had hurt the stock.
Enron, he told the jury, was “a wonderful company—a shining star.” Its failure had resulted not from fraud but from an irrational panic (the “run-on-the-bank” theory) triggered by irresponsible media stories (especially those Wall Street Journal articles) written by reporters in cahoots with short sellers bent on destroying the company.

Banks and analysts complicit

Analysts who worked for Wall Street banks later claimed that they had been deceived by Enron. But if they were indeed victims, they were willing ones. “For any analyst to say there were no warning signs in the public filings, they could not have read the same public filings that I did,” Howard Schilit, an independent analyst who is the president of the Center for Financial Research and Analysis, later told Congress.
But analysts got to be rich and famous only if they were bullish. That’s what got them appearances on CNBC, not to mention loving profiles in The New Yorker,
What if an analyst tried to get beyond Enron’s pat explanation of its business? Executives would imply that they were slow and stupid, and most of the other analysts would agree with that assessment.
For the analysts, there was a final reason they needed to keep their buy ratings on Enron: the ugliest and most powerful reason of all. There was simply too much investment-banking business at stake not to have a screaming buy on the stock.

Aggressive fan boys against the shorts

Over at Kynikos, Jim Chanos was in hysterics. He had never heard the CEO of a Fortune 500 company lose it like that. After listening to the conference call, Chanos was more convinced than ever that Enron was hiding serious problems. Even owners of Enron stock thought Grubman’s questions were perfectly valid—and if they hadn’t been, Skilling should have dealt with them more adeptly. “Any CEO should be able to handle the hardest of questions from the most aggressive of shorts,” says analyst Meade.

Large investors started dumping shares

Instead, in private deliberations in sequestered boardrooms, major institutions were beginning to reevaluate their position on Enron. Unlike the public buy recommendations from the equity analysts, though, these private decisions never came to the attention of the small investor. Between March and the end of June, four large holders—Janus, Fidelity, American Express, and American Century—sold a total of 21.3 million shares, according to an internal Enron document. One major Wall Street firm that traded with Enron began to watch its exposure more carefully and ever so slowly cut back the amount of money it would allow Enron to owe at any point. “We thought Enron was a very funky animal that kept getting funkier and funkier,” says a credit officer there.

Shorts leading the way with information

It was short sellers who first asked tough questions about Enron. Their interest was sparked by the tremendous run-up in the stock, which can suggest that a company is overvalued. It was fueled by the hype about broadband and the collapse of Azurix.
Though most of the mainstream business press was unaware of Roberts’ report, it was widely circulated among hedge-fund managers and other large institutional investors. A reporter named Peter Eavis, who wrote for the popular online financial site, TheStreet.com, followed up on Roberts’s research and began writing a string of negative stories about Enron. Slowly, the heat was being turned up.

All the information was public

The circle of people who knew—or should have known—that Enron’s glittering surface masked a different reality was surprisingly large. Much of what Enron did—such as generating billions in off-balance-sheet debt—was out in the open. Many of the analysts knew full well that the company’s earnings far outstripped the cash coming in the door. The bankers and investment bankers, who worked for the same firms as the analysts, certainly understood what Enron was doing; indeed, they made Fastow’s deals possible. The credit-rating agencies knew a lot. The business press, which could have looked more closely at Enron’s financial statements, couldn’t be bothered; the media was utterly captivated by the company’s transformation from stodgy pipeline to new economy powerhouse. And of course there were any number of Enron’s own employees who could see for themselves how the company was making its numbers. And yet, they all chose not to make the logical leap, to see where it was inevitably headed. Instead, they all chose to believe. Everyone loved Enron.

Company Leadership

Nepotism, the company is mine

His top executives were also dismayed at the way he and his family openly fed at the Enron trough. “If you’re the CEO of a public company, it isn’t yours,” says a former executive, but Lay seemed oblivious of such distinctions. Over the years, he seemed to have cultivated a powerful sense of personal entitlement. Not only did he use the company’s fleet of airplanes for his private use; so did his children. Enron employees called the planes the Lay family taxi, so frequently did family members use them. Linda Lay used an Enron plane to visit her daughter Robyn in France. Another time an Enron jet was dispatched to Monaco to deliver Robyn’s bed.

The CEO was a visionary genius

When people describe Skilling they don’t just use the word “smart”; they use phrases like “incandescently brilliant” or “the smartest person I ever met.”
“What Skilling did so well was to motivate other people to his vision,” says a former Enron trader. “I still believe in a lot of the things he said.” Several of the traders did think that some of Skilling’s personal habits, such as hanging out in Houston dive bars until the wee hours, were strange. But they liked that in a way, too. “Enron people, who cares about normal?” asks another former trader. “We don’t like normal. People at Enron didn’t want a typical CEO.” And in a way, Skilling was just like them.
Skilling and Lay found themselves mentioned in the same breath as GE’s Jack Welch, Microsoft’s Bill Gates, Apple’s Steve Jobs, and the very small handful of other celebrity businessmen.
By all appearances, Skilling was on top of the world. BusinessWeek celebrated his new position with a worshipful cover story, featuring Skilling precisely as he wanted the world to see him, dressed in ultracool black, electricity sizzling through his body. Worth magazine described him as “hypersmart” and “hyperconfident”—and named him America’s second-best CEO

The fans became disillusioned with CEO

And suddenly, Skilling was no longer infallible. Always before, when Skilling said the stock would go up, it went up. But not this time; now, his insistence that the stock was worth $126 a share had the scent of desperation. Skilling now hated riding in the elevator with employees.

Unstable CEO, harassing employees

A few years earlier, when he was still COO, he gave the finger to an employee who had almost run into his car during the morning parking rush. It was hardly the sort of gesture one expected from a big-time corporate executive. But Skilling blew off complaints about the incident, word of which spread like wildfire. “I’m an entrepreneur, not a politician,” he said.
As for Skilling’s mood, it seemed to oscillate between depression, righteous indignation, and manic excitement about the next big enchilada.

Margin calls

Lay’s finances, however, were built around the belief that Enron’s stock would never go down. During most of the 1990s, Lay had most of his net worth in Enron stock. In 1999, his advisers began pestering him to diversify. But he did so in a manner that wound up, in effect, doubling his bet on the stock. Here’s what he did: Lay pledged almost all of his portfolio of liquid assets—primarily Enron stock—as collateral for bank and brokerage loans.

Genuinely believed in their work

For all of Skilling’s public bravado about how great everything was at Enron, he spent most of his time dealing with a host of serious problems, the part of the job he had always despised. Part of him was caught up in maintaining the illusion that Enron was, indeed, the World’s Leading Company. But it seems likely that another part of him was being forced to confront the darker reality. Holding those two conflicting notions in his head at the same time—at a minimum, it had to be exhausting.

Pushover board

And here’s the most amazing denial of all: Even Enron’s board of directors—the people formally entrusted with serving as a check on management and with guarding the interests of the shareholders—disclaimed any responsibility.
Lehman Brothers was so shocked that the Enron board would approve such an arrangement that it insisted on receiving a certified copy of the board resolution approving Fastow’s conflict. Then it signed on for $10 million.

Insider selling

Pai had continued unloading his shares. Just between May 18 and May 25, 2001, he sold almost a million shares. When he had finally parted with his last share, Pai had sold over $250 million worth of Enron stock—more than anybody else at the company.
Skilling also took care of his own finances. Since May 2000, he had sold over 450,000 shares of Enron worth some $33 million. In mid-September, he sold another 500,000 shares, bringing his total proceeds to over $70 million.
Lay, of course, didn’t reveal that in the previous two months, he had secretly cashed in $20 million of his own stock by drawing down his company credit line, then repaying it with Enron shares—part of the $78 million Lay had pocketed this way over the previous 12 months.

The Company

The company was good for humanity and disrupting dinosaurs

Just as he had when Enron was riding high, Skilling labeled ExxonMobil a “dinosaur”—as though it didn’t matter that the oil giant was thriving while Enron was nearly extinct. “We were doing something special. Magical.” The money wasn’t what really mattered to him, insisted Skilling, who had banked $70 million from Enron stock. “It wasn’t a job—it was a mission,” he liked to say. “We were changing the world. We were doing God’s work.”
He was openly scornful of steady, asset-based businesses that grew slowly but generated cash—then swept them away to make room for a series of ever-bigger, ever-riskier bets that brought in almost no cash at all.
According to their view, what the Enron executives had done was nothing worse than what dozens of CEOs had done in Silicon Valley, where people who worked for companies with far less to offer than Enron had fed Internet hype, cashed out, and walked away unscathed. A more extreme version of this thinking was that Enron’s sins were not incompetence and fraud but rather innovation and free-spiritedness. Enron’s dwindling collection of defenders made the same argument as Michael Milken’s defenders had in the 1980s: They were being prosecuted because they were a threat to staid, old corporate America. “You can always tell who the pioneers are, because they’re the ones with arrows in their backs,” became their refrain.

Telling the market what they want to hear, pointing forward

Besides, the Enron story, when Skilling told it, sounded so good; otherwise intelligent people were reduced to nodding their heads in agreement. Skilling listened to what the market wanted and sold Enron that way.
Always before, Skilling was able to come with a new big enchilada to drive the business—and the stock price. That was the part of being a businessman that he loved. But he was out of big ideas. Righting Enron required lowering everyone’s expectations—something he could not bring himself to do—and fixing problems, which he hated. “It was getting hard,” says a former executive, “and Jeff doesn’t do hard.”

All the appearances of success

“Enron is literally unbeatable at what they do,” raved David Fleischer, a securities analyst at Goldman Sachs. “The industry standard for excellence,” chimed in Deutsche Bank’s Edward Tirello. “Enron is the one to emulate,” wrote the Financial Times.
That Skilling himself sometimes seemed unable to give a coherent explanation of Enron’s business—at times, he got by with saying “We’re a cool company”—bothered no one. All that mattered was that the stock was going up. Because the stock was rising, Enron’s executives were seen as brilliant.
It was so easy to believe, for signs of success were everywhere. Enron was building a flashy 40-story skyscraper, designed by the architectural superstar Cesar Pelli, at a cost of about $200 million—complete with a $1 million, hand-etched relief map of the world that hung from the atrium ceiling on 18-foot glass panels. Lay told employees that the building “may become kind of the landmark for downtown Houston.” (It was still under construction when Enron collapsed; the building was sold for $102 million in 2002.) In London, Enron’s expensive new offices overlooked Buckingham Palace. “You walked through the offices every day and thought, ‘Someone is paying for this,’ ” says a former Enron Europe employee. “We all had faith based on empirical observations.”

Good ideas but unrealistic

Skilling also had a tendency to oversimplify, and he largely disregarded—indeed, he had an active distaste for—the messy details involved in executing a plan. What thrilled Skilling, always, was the intellectual purity of an idea, not the translation of that idea into reality. “Jeff Skilling is a designer of ditches, not a digger of ditches,” an Enron executive said years later. He was often too slow—even unwilling—to recognize when the reality didn’t match the theory.
Most executives believed Lay’s makeup included an unhealthy capacity for self-delusion: he tended to deceive himself about harsh truths he didn’t want to face. “He invents his own reality,” says one.
In many ways, broadband stands as the logical evolution of the accumulating problems that ultimately brought down Enron. What Enron was trying to accomplish was bold, even inspirational. It looked dazzling in a hotel ballroom, presented to analysts by Skilling on PowerPoint slides. But in the real world, it ran headlong into the reality of a thousand technical, economic, competitive, and logistical roadblocks that keep any business plan—especially one so exceedingly ambitious—from unfolding perfectly.
Attempting even one of these plans would have been an enormous undertaking for any company, requiring a tremendous commitment of resources, time, and talent. To try to do them all at once, without any previous experience, virtually overnight? It was crazy.
While EBS was never what Enron claimed, certainly much of the work being done was real. Teams of engineers were struggling with the technology, trying to crack the code on the networking problems, testing video-streaming, spending hundreds of millions on hardware, and cobbling together the promised 15,000-mile fiber network, which Enron had pledged to extend to Europe (where it was putting yet another hundred employees). The traders were developing standard contracts, trying to drum up trading partners, and courting the phone companies. EBS’s mergers-and-acquisitions team gobbled up software companies that might help the business along. Broadband even had its own venture-capital division, investing in start-ups and public tech stocks. Considerable effort was also devoted to giving Wall Street the impression of rapid and dramatic progress.
Energy trading, which Enron pioneered, is very real today, as is video on demand—which was supposed to be part of Enron’s broadband business. Corporate energy-efficiency retrofitting—the intended business of EES—is all the rage today. Compare all that to the making of loans to people who couldn’t pay them back and the packaging of those loans into securities to be sold to clueless investors. The former was genuinely creative; the latter was simply opportunistic and destructive. Or to put it a different way, there was so much possibility in Enron, and there could have been a different ending. There was never going to be anything but a bad ending to the inflation of home prices. By some measures, maybe the Enron guys really were the smartest guys in the room.

Fake it till you make it

It was also a veritable sham. The war room had been rapidly fitted out explicitly to impress the analysts. Though EES was then just gearing up, Skilling and Pai had staged it all to convince their visitors that things were already hopping. On the day the analysts arrived, the room was filled with Enron employees. Many of them, though, didn’t even work on the sixth floor. They were secretaries, EES staff from other locations, and non-EES employees who had been drafted for the occasion and coached on the importance of appearing busy. One, an administrative assistant named Kim Garcia, recalls being told to bring her personal photos to make it look as if she actually worked at the desk where she was sitting; she spent most of the time talking to her girlfriends on the phone. After getting the all-clear signal, Garcia packed up her belongings and returned to her real desk on the ninth floor. The analysts had no clue they’d been hoodwinked.
When the executives talked about the Enron Intelligent Network, they made it sound as if it were working already. “This software layer, is this a pipedream, is this something that we’re going to get done in the next five years?” asked Joe Hirko, co-CEO of the business. “No, this is something that exists today.”
At the time, Enron had portrayed this network as “lit, tested, and ready.” In fact, it wasn’t close to operating on a commercial scale, and much of the promised technology never made it out of the lab.
Top executives Ken Rice, Kevin Hannon, and Joe Hirko, as well as two others, were charged with fraud and insider trading, accused of lying to the investing public about EBS’s technological capabilities to inflate market valuations of the business while collectively selling more than $150 million of stock.

Thought they were a startup

Everybody talked about moving at Internet speed. Much of what Skilling was selling had the effect of positioning Enron as a company that had more in common with the dot-coms than with an old energy giant like Exxon. Of course it also helped that no one suspended disbelief more than Skilling himself: he seems to have truly thought the culture he was establishing would give Enron a huge competitive advantage in the new age.

Obscure reporting metrics

“It was a PR message embedded in a financial disclosure,” says one former divisional EES accountant. “That even made Rick Causey cringe.” It served the same purpose as the dot-com metrics: it gave Wall Street something to focus on besides profits.

Slippery Slope

There have been accounting frauds over the years where companies created receivables out of whole cloth or shipped bricks at the end of a quarter instead of products. In such cases, someone at a company has to consciously consider the fact that he or she is about to commit a crime—and then commit it. But for the most part, the Enron scandal wasn’t like that. The Enron scandal grew out of a steady accumulation of habits and values and actions that began years before and finally spiraled out of control.

Employees

Using employees

But even inside Enron, the old Skilling magic wasn’t working anymore. The questions were skeptical. How’d we make our numbers this quarter? Why are you selling so much of your own stock? And finally, from Margaret Ceconi: “You say we’re going to make half a billion a year, Jeff. How in the world are we going to do that? What’s your strategy?” “Well, that’s what you guys are for,” Skilling responded. “You guys are the creative ones—you’ve got to figure it out.” That afternoon, EES laid off three hundred people, including Ceconi.

Trusting the experts

the vast majority of people who worked for Enron simply assumed that the Global Finance team and Enron’s accountants at Arthur Andersen—not to mention the stock analysts and credit analysts—knew what they were doing and that there was nothing for them to worry about.

Performance tied to stock price

For Skilling himself, says a former aide, “the stock price was his report card.” When it rose, he was exultant; when it dropped, he was glum. Whenever he was on the road, Skilling would call several times a day just to check on how the stock was performing. Lots of corporate executives were fixated on their companies’ stock price during the bull market of the 1990s, but Skilling’s obsession went beyond most of them. As a businessman, his thought process revolved almost entirely around the stock, to the point where he began to believe that Enron’s market capitalization—that is, the total value of the company’s stock—was the only measure the company should be concerned with. Eventually, he would justify business decisions entirely on the basis of what it would mean to Enron’s valuation.

Lying about layoffs

Two days later, CBS MarketWatch, another online financial site, quoted Skilling as saying that the rumors of broadband job cuts were “absolutely not true”; Enron’s PR department said the redeployments were “standard daily practice” and went so far as to say there were sixty job openings in broadband.

Expert in everything

Enron was promising to run the cooling and heating systems, hire the energy-maintenance staff, change the lightbulbs, and pay the bills. Enron had never shown that it could manage that sort of operation.

Finance

Financial manipulations at end of Quarter

In fact, it was anything but effortless; there was nothing at Enron that required more effort, more cleverness, more deceit—more everything—than hitting its quarterly earnings targets. As out of control as Enron was on a day-to-day basis, the place went practically bonkers when the end of the quarter grew closer. For this, Skilling deserves the lion’s share of the blame.

Unwilling to raise capital

Although Enron clearly needed capital—it had by then billions in debt and was preparing to spend billions on new business ventures—Skilling and Lay were cool to the idea. Skilling, in particular, was opposed to anything that might hurt the stock price, even temporarily. That’s always the danger when new shares flood the market: the new supply can outstrip the demand for the stock and push the price down. Additional shares also make it harder to hit an earnings-per-share number because there are more shares outstanding. As they say on Wall Street, existing shareholders are diluted.
Rumors had been floating in recent days that Enron would need to do an equity offering to raise money; Skilling went out of his way to flatten the rumor. “From a credit standpoint, there is absolutely no need to issue additional equity, either this year or for the foreseeable future,” he said. “So overall, I have no understanding of why [our] stock price is in the $53, $54—that’s just crazy.”

Bad Credit rating

But to get an A rating would have meant, at the very least, cutting debt, controlling costs, and funding fewer big enchiladas, and that Enron was not willing to do. The highest rating Enron achieved was BBB+, just a few notches above junk-bond status

Risk of credit

Why would investors be willing to buy the Marlin debt? Because once again, Enron promised that if Azurix couldn’t pay it would make up the difference by issuing stock or buying back the debt itself. As was the case with Osprey, investors got extra protection: if Enron’s debt rating fell below investment grade and its stock fell below $37.84, the company would be obliged to pay off all the Marlin debt at once.

Refinancing Debt

Once again, Enron’s enablers came to the rescue, allowing Enron to refinance the Marlin debt. In a CSFB-led deal, Enron raised a fresh $1 billion to pay off old investors and extend the terms of the debt for another two years. This new deal contained the same provisions as the old one: all the debt came due at once if Enron lost its investment-grade rating status—and if its stock fell below $34.13.

Desperate raises

Still, by November 1, Enron was able to announce that it had secured another $1 billion in financing. But as it turned out, $250 million of the package was merely the refinancing of an existing loan from Citi that was expiring at year-end. It improved the bank’s collateral position but gave Enron no new cash. Even after hocking its pipelines, Enron had generated only $750 million more, which wasn’t going to last long.

Cash problems

While Enron’s reported earnings were growing smoothly, the business didn’t seem to be generating much cash—and you can’t run a business without cash. In fact, Enron had negative cash from its operations in the first nine months of 2000.

Bonus coincidences

Used a hair growth drug

He later started using a hair-growth drug to recarpet his balding scalp. At the age of 43, he’d never looked better.

Young inexperienced CFO

Lay told Enron’s board that he felt the best candidate was an internal one: rising star Andy Fastow. In March 1998, Fastow, just 36 years old, was named CFO of Enron. Once again, Enron had installed the wrong man in the wrong job for the wrong reason.
He lacked something else: the knowledge that being a CFO demanded. Fastow knew so little about accounting that one person who knows him wasn’t even sure he could dissect a balance sheet.

Backdating documents

For a price, LJM2 made all sorts of accommodations to Enron, even backdating documents.

Customer deposits boosting cash balance

In 2000, Enron reported an unprecedented $4.8 billion in operating cash flow. Roberts noted that almost $2 billion of it was from customer deposits—because energy prices were so high, Enron’s counterparties had to provide more collateral. But this money didn’t really belong to Enron. If prices fell, it would have to be returned to the counterparties.

Ross Gerber lookalike

Launer was a longtime, well-respected natural-gas analyst. But by the late 1990s, his career had become a perfect example of the rewards an analyst could reap by playing the game according to the new rules. In his reports, he didn’t seem to have any particularly deep insights into Enron’s business. His understanding of the business was such that he told at least one investor that Enron was “a ‘trust-me’ story.” Some at the company didn’t think much of him. “He loved going to lunch with Skilling and Lay,” recalls one former top executive. “He was never into the numbers. And he didn’t understand the trading business even after we spent years explaining it to him.” But he pounded the table for a soaring stock.

70 billion valuation

On August 23, 2000, Enron’s stock closed at $90—its all-time high—giving Enron a market valuation approaching $70 billion.

Larry Ellison

What outsiders would buy into this arrangement? Friendly ones. In the first step of the transaction, the broadband division formed a joint venture, called EBS Content Systems, with two partners. One was a vendor involved in the Blockbuster trial called nCube—a tiny video-on-demand equipment company privately owned by Oracle CEO Larry Ellison.

Jim Chanos

After Chanos saw Jonathan Weil’s story in the fall of 2000, he flipped open Enron’s 1999 10-K. He read: “The market prices used to value these transactions reflect management’s best estimates.” He thought: “A license to print money.” He began talking to Enron’s competitors, Wall Street analysts, and virtually anyone else he thought might have information on the company—though not to the company itself, which he viewed as a waste of time. (“You can call the analysts and get the company party line,” he says.) The more Chanos poked around, the more he felt that the Enron story didn’t make sense. Chanos had made a fortune researching—then shorting—telecom stocks. He knew how much trouble they were in. How could Enron’s broad-band unit be doing so well when the rest of the industry was on life support? “We know telecom cold,” he says. “And here’s Enron bleating about this great opportunity.” Enron’s return on invested capital was abysmally low, around 7 percent—and that figure didn’t even include the billions upon billions of off-balance-sheet debt. “They were chewing up capital,” says Chanos. He was struck by a three-paragraph disclosure in Enron’s third-quarter 2000 filing about its dealings with a related party. No matter how many times he read it, he still couldn’t understand what it said. He showed it to derivatives specialists, corporate lawyers, and other experts; they couldn’t figure it out either. Chanos thought: “They must be trying to hide something.” And then there were the insider sales. Lay was consistently selling about 2,500 shares a day. Skilling was also selling in big chunks. Chanos and the others who shorted Enron’s stock didn’t have any special information that wasn’t available to the bulls. “As soon as anyone looked, they could see the stuff we saw,” says Chanos today. At first, he adds, “We didn’t think it was some great hidden fraud. We just thought it was a bad business.” By November 2000, he had begun taking a big short position in Enron stock.

Billion dollar payment

The debt, which amounted to almost $1 billion, was due at the end of 2001, and just as the short sellers had long suspected, Azurix wasn’t worth nearly enough to pay it back. Which meant, of course, that Enron itself was on the hook for the money. Back when Marlin was set up, in 1998, Enron promised to issue stock if the assets backing Marlin proved insufficient to repay the debt. But now that the moment was arriving, Enron was adamant about not wanting to issue new stock. Given the questions that were swirling around the company, that was the last thing Enron wanted to do.

Attacking the WSJ

“WSJ investigative reporter is doing an expose on LJM-Enron. Obviously, we’ve done everything we’re supposed to, plus some, but they are going to do a character assassination on me based on hearsay from unnamed sources. Major hack job. I probably fired one too many people this year. You may not want to be seen at the pub with me.”

2 billion doesn't last long

Despite the $2 billion that had arrived on November 13, Enron had only $1.2 billion left. Counting the money it had in hand before getting the $2 billion, that meant Enron had burned through at least a billion dollars in six days and $2 billion in less than a month. Clearly Enron no longer had ample liquidity.

Aimed to be the largest company

“When we talk about becoming the ‘World’s Leading Company,’ the target I think we all ought to have in mind is how do we become the company with the highest market value of any company in the world,” he said. At that time, those honors belonged to General Electric, which had a market value of $400 billion—almost six times larger than Enron’s.

Failed massive partnership, blamed the partner for supply problems

Enron announced it was ending its 20-year deal with Blockbuster. Enron publicly blamed Blockbuster, saying the video giant had failed to provide the “quantity and quality” of movies the project needed. Here’s the most amazing part, though: Enron’s spin machine, which had shamelessly hyped the Blockbuster deal to the analysts, now labored to dismiss the significance of its implosion—and the analysts bought it!
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